


I ain't going nowhere

by Fififjonka



Category: Midnight Cowboy (1969)
Genre: Abuse, Friendship/Love, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-12-02 02:56:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11500323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fififjonka/pseuds/Fififjonka
Summary: A few days before the party invitation Joe has a conversation with Ratso, a conversation with an unexpected turn he would never forget. It is at that freezing night, in the dirty old flat, where Joe feels like a true human being for the very first time in his life.





	I ain't going nowhere

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I absolutely adore the movie - albeit it has emotionally devastated me so many times already - and I think Joe and Ratso's relationship is one of the most touching things I've ever watched. And I finally got to writing a short fic about those two. What I mainly wanted to express was the insecurity of both of them, as they both feel inferior to others, only with different reasons and this insecurity preventing them from truly opening up. And I was quite surprised (and happy) to see there are a few stories about MC already. Great! Such a great movie definitely deserves more attention. Well, hope you'll like this one too. Enjoy!

“Fucking creep!”

Joe was just heading to the dirty hellhole he was now calling “home,” and he was lost in thoughts until he heard a familiar voice.

“Get your hands off me!”

Joe’s heart raced. The voices and laughter were coming just from around the corner and he could hear Ratso already. His cough had never been a pleasant thing, but lately it became an obnoxious and terrifying sound that would wake Joe up from his sleep and made him stare at the ceiling.

He ran around the block and saw three men cornering Ratso against the wall. He was cowering, had one his arm up to defend himself, the other was pressed firmly on his mouth.

“Disgusting slimy bastard…” one of the trio growled, spitting into Ratso’s face.

An overwhelming wave of burning anger washed over Joe. He rushed forward, stepping between them and Ratso. He grabbed the man by his shoulders, turning him on spot.

“What the…”

The man fell silent, startled by the look on Joe’s face, steam coming out of his mouth and nose. Joe pulled him toward himself.

“You ever touch him again,” Joe growled silently, “and you’re gonna be picking those teeth from the ground. Understand?”

Joe pushed the man away violently. He didn’t realize until now they were actually younger than he was, watching him in utter disbelief, their eyes jumping from him to Ratso. Albeit three, they were no match for him, a thing they quickly realized themselves. Murmuring something under their breaths and turning over their shoulders they walked away. Joe was still breathing heavily and the anger was wearing off only very slowly.

“You OK?” he asked, turning to face Ratso. With a stab of fresh anger he saw there was a bleeding cut on Ratso’s lower lip. He would never believe something like a little drop of blood on Ratso’s lip could enrage him so much he would actually hear blood pulsing in his temples. He clenched his fists.

“Fucking bastards,” he fumed. “You fine to walk?”

“Yeah…” Ratso glared at him briefly. “I could’ve taken care of that myself.”

“Oh, really?” Joe’s eyebrows went up.

“Yeah,” Ratso said, his voice having an angry undertone. “What you think I was doing all the time before you came?”

“OK, I’m sorry! Leave them fucking to it next time…” Joe said with annoyance, walking away. He ran the stairs up to their flat, pacing from one side to another, scowling and cursing. When Ratso wasn’t showing up, though, Joe went after him and found him sitting on the second flight of stairs with his eyes closed.

“Huh, didn’t make it far, did ya?”

Ratso didn’t move a muscle and Joe noticed his face was ghostly white, which instantly made him swallow whatever mocking remarks he had in store to provoke him. He grabbed his arm instead.

“C’mon,” he said, lifting him up and throwing his arm around his shoulders.

 “What were ya doing out there with that damn cold of yours anyway?”

Ratso didn’t answer. He felt like nothing. Like he didn’t weight more than a pigeon. Just a small fragile bundle of trembling bones. Almost anyone could crush him. Even a damn little kid could crash him. It was something worth admiring, Joe thought. He knew Ratso was struggling, but he was holding on. And except those last few months he’d been living completely on his own.

Ratso leaned against him, immobilized by another fit of cough. Joe practically carried him all the way up, stopping several times when his cough was so bad Ratso would just sit on the stairs bending forward, with this terrible, gut wrenching sound echoing above their heads.

When they made it up into their flat it was already dark outside. Joe lowered Ratso onto the bed, putting several blankets over him. His friend was unusually quiet which didn’t suit him. It reminded Joe of the times he would wake up at night and find Ratso sitting in the armchair staring at him or staring at nothing in particular, having this _empty_ look in his eyes and when he would ask what was up, Ratso would just carry on staring. He’d never told him what he was thinking about. And part of Joe didn’t even want to know.

“Feeling better?”

Ratso gave a weak nod albeit his chest was moving with obvious strain. But he would never complain. He would only complain when he wanted to use his sickness to appeal to people’s sympathy and pity (and their nickels, more precisely) but those times he didn’t mean it. He would never complain in front of him.

“There’s some soup,” Ratso said then, gesturing to the cooker. To Joe’s surprise he was moved. He wouldn’t remember the last time somebody cooked for him. His grandma had never been exactly a homemaker. And Ratso was a better cook than her anyway.

“Hey, you’re like my damn mamma sometimes,” Joe said, amused. Ratso was sitting on the bed with his eyes closed and lips parted in the constant fight for air. For a minute or two Joe thought he had actually fallen asleep. He approached him, pulling the blanket over his chest. Ratso moved slightly and groaned silently, acknowledging his presence and opening his eyes partially.   

“You sure you OK?” Joe asked. “You’re still bleeding.”

As he reached him, Ratso moved away with eyes widened and Joe stopped in half-movement.

“That’s alright. I ain’t gonna hurt you,” Joe said, grinning. “In case you haven’t figured that yet.”

Ratso pressed his lips. When Joe touched him, wiping the blood into his sleeve, Ratso took a sharp breath, turning away from him and covering his eyes with his hand. Joe gave him an alarmed look.

“What’s wrong?” he demanded. A sob escaped Ratso’s lips.  

“Hey? You hurt?”

Joe watched him, helpless and worried he’d done something wrong.

“Hey! You ain’t speaking to me or what?”

Ratso didn’t look at him, keeping his face hidden. Joe pushed away the frustration he felt with him not responding right away and reminded himself that whatever was going on, he wouldn’t help it with blaming and demands. He settled with placing a hand on Ratso’s shoulder, squeezing it.

“What is it?” he asked. Ratso shook his head, lowering his hand. It was hard to say in the darkness if it was sweat or tears on his cheeks.

“I’m fine,” he said, his voice breaking a bit.

“You ain’t fine to me,” Joe said. “And you think I’m such a dumbass to buy this bullshit.”

“It’s… no, I’m just stupid.”

“You ain’t stupid,” Joe said and he meant it. Whatever Ratso was he wasn’t stupid.

“You ain’t stupid. If you were stupid you wouldn’t stand a chance in this place.”

Ratso’s confused but pleased face made Joe wonder if he had just paid him the first compliment of his life.

“That’s why you took me in, innit? You’re calling me dumb all the time. But now I ain’t going nowhere until you tell me what’s going on.”

“You’re gonna laugh at me,” Ratso said, quietly.

“I ain’t gonna laugh at you,” Joe said, his voice serious. “I swear I’m not.”

Ratso looked up and their eyes met. His lower lip was shaking slightly.

“Nobody’s ever stood up for me like that,” he more whispered than said.

“I used to be alone all the time…”

Ratso paused, his expression turning defiant.

“I’m not complaining, you know,” he said quickly. “I can manage on my own. I’m just not used to it, you know…”

He fell silent again. Joe was momentarily taken aback. He didn’t know why but he would never think of Ratso as of some kind of a _slime,_ as most people would. For him he was, you know, _Ratso_ , this little limping guy with a funny voice and a soft spot for coconut milk who hated being called Ratso and whom Joe enjoyed teasing so damn much. Because for a guy so little and harmless Ratso could get so comically _mad_.

Joe cracked a smile then.

“Hey…you see – you aren’t alone anymore. You can be pretty damn sure I’d stand up for you. It’s my job now, right? We’re buddies. That’s what buddies do, right? They care for each other, that’s what they do. Right?”

Ratso kept giving him this pleading look.

“Right?” Joe repeated and Ratso nodded, working on regaining his usual composure.

“Good… So you better get used to it now, ya know… ” Joe shook his head and watched Ratso drying furtively his tears with the back of his hand. For someone so insignificant Ratso had an impressive amount of dignity sometimes, which was a quality Joe hadn’t truly seen earlier than a few weeks ago.

“Do you remember your mother?” Ratso asked suddenly. There was genuine interest in his voice.

“Not much,” Joe said.

“Was she nice?”

“Dunno…” Joe frowned. “Think so… Plenty of men chasing her, that’s what my gran told me… What ‘bout your mom?”

“Don’t remember her at all,” Ratso said. “Only my old man.”

“What was he like?”

Ratso was silent for a moment.

“I think good,” he said then. “But ruined. He’d drag himself home every night and just collapse on the couch. I was a bit scared of him, he had this… this hollow face, you know…was scary…”

Ratso shivered and this time Joe knew it wasn’t from the cold.

“I learned to cook for him,” Ratso said. “But he didn’t care what he was putting into his mouth. He would eat marbles if I served it to him.”

Ratso stared into the darkness with a distant look on his face. There was a feeble smile on his lips.

“He told me about my mother. Told me she was beautiful and kind. He was probably making it all up but – ya know – he wanted me to feel better. So it was alright.”

“Maybe she was,” Joe said. “And he wasn’t making it up.”

“Yeah… maybe…” Ratso said. “Don’t matter now, anyway, they’re both dead.”

“My mom’s maybe still alive,” Joe said. “I don’t know. She left when I was little. She could be anywhere.”

Ratso’s eyes moved in the darkness, focusing on his face. Joe wasn’t used to someone actually listening to him with such attention.

“Hey, you know you’re the first one to ask me ‘bout her?”

Yes, she left, he thought. She went away and left him behind. He’d been making excuses for her his whole life, imagining all kinds of reasons she could have for that. But maybe she simply didn’t have any. Maybe she just felt like going and didn’t mean leaving him behind… 

Joe remembered some of the dreams with his mother. He had hundreds of dreams, good and bad – well, mostly bad – and sometimes he dreamed about her. He would see her looking at him smiling and he would be reaching his arms to her and she would turn and leave. And he would scream and call after her but she wouldn’t come back. When he woke up after such a dream he felt like she was sitting next to him. And then he realized he was alone in the room.

Well, not anymore, he thought.

“You having nightmares sometimes?” Joe asked. There was no point pretending _he_ didn’t for Ratso had already seen him numerous times waking up all sweaty and frightened. He wouldn’t hush him, though; he would just give him this calm, reassuring look and say something like: “You’re fine, was just dreaming…”

But to Joe’s surprise it was enough. It was enough to know that there was somebody else in the room, kind of watching over him… It was funny, though, for Ratso was just this little _imp_ who couldn’t even make it up the stairs without help now, yet Joe felt reassured by him, all the time.

“A bit,” Ratso admitted. “Ain’t sleeping that much.”

“Oh yeah, that’s right. Sometimes I think you’re a damn bat or something.”

“Not my fault,” Ratso said. “You wouldn’t sleep either if someone nicked your shoes and peed all over you while you’re just taking a little nap.”

Joe made a pretentious noise of disgust while Ratso glared at him from under his eyebrows.

“But you _do_ have nightmares sometimes, right?” Joe asked. Ratso nodded.

“What about?” Joe wanted to know. He wished they were similar, he wished he wasn’t the only one having this kind of dreams, this kind of weird dreams making him scared and misplaced and so _confused_ …

Ratso shrugged.

“People,” he said then. “Usually… Repulsed by me, doing something bad to me. Or laughing at me.”

“Huh… What you think it means?”

Ratso raised an eyebrow.

“What do _you_ think it means? Doesn’t exactly mean I’m enjoying being laugh at, right?”

“But you know you don’t like it,” Joe said. “What if you don’t know.”

“Don’t know what?”

“You know…”

He didn’t finish. He was afraid to say it aloud. Dreams of being hurt, dreams of being… abused… and waking up feeling horribly scared. And – sometimes – feeling _nice_. But that would mean he was enjoying it and he wasn’t, that thing he knew for sure. He certainly wasn’t enjoying it and thinking about that night was still sending shivers down his body.

“Don’t know what?” Ratso repeated.

“Nevermind…”

“Hey,” Ratso said, his voice raising. “You remember _I ain’t going nowhere unless you tell me_?”

Joe shot him a look.

“Imagine something bad happened to you.”

“To _me_?”

Ratso couldn’t help it but gave a short, cackling laugh.

“Wow, imagining something bad happening to me. Don’t know if I can do it… What could that be…”

“Would you listen to me?” Joe said angrily. He had just decided to tell him, to really tell him, and he didn’t have the patience to go through his bitter remarks.

“Go on,” Ratso said, not laughing anymore. Joe glared at him before speaking.

“Something bad happened to you,” he repeated. “Now you know it’s bad and you don’t like it and you hate it. You know it’s not right and that it hurt you. But then you have this dream and you dream about it and you… kind of… ya know… _like it_ – in the dream, I mean!”

Joe took a deep breath.

“What kind of a bad thing is that?” Ratso asked and Joe had a horrible but very real feeling Ratso knew quite well where he was heading.

“I don’t know, it’s dreams,” Joe said. “Having the crap beaten out of you… Some fucking bastards punching you… Stuff like that…”

He didn’t dare to think how much Ratso could understand from it. He didn’t want any pity – that was one of the rare things he and Ratso had in common.

“Don’t mean you’re bad,” he said eventually.

“How do you know?”

“I do,” Ratso said simply. At that moment his voice wasn’t raspy and his face was calm and not twisted with cough. And even though circled with the purple ill shadows, Ratso’s dark eyes were so _alive_ … Joe could really see into them. And he believed him.

Joe smiled almost unwittingly. Ratso started coughing again and Joe patted his back with concern. It really was fucking cold. His hands and feet were frozen. No wonder Ratso was getting worse.

He was, Joe realized. He was getting worse. And a horrible, piercing thought occurred to him – that Ratso would disappear. That he too would cough his lungs out like his father. The thought was actually so painful to Joe he felt like a frozen hand just touched his heart and squeezed it. And a haunting, unbelievably sickening picture of him being in this flat all alone ran through his head.

All alone. He’d tasted what being alone in this city felt like.  

Joe raised his hand in a slow, almost unconscious movement, putting it gently on Ratso’s feverish cheek. Ratso stopped coughing out of shock completely, giving him a wide-eyed look. Joe leaned forward then and placed a small kiss on his lips. He moved back quickly, shocked by his own actions, expecting Ratso to yell at him something about fags.

“I… shee-it…” Joe ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what’s got into me…”

He wanted to get up when Ratso moved forward, retuning the kiss. Joe didn’t move away. He had no idea what it was he felt at that moment. Was it fear or was it despair or was it lust – he couldn’t say, maybe it was everything at once but suddenly he didn’t care about it. He didn’t care about anything anymore. He put his arms around Ratso, pulling him closer. His skin was burning with fever and Joe was afraid if he let go of him he would lost him forever.

He had never felt like that about anyone. How come he felt like that now? And why Ratso? From all the people in the world, why Ratso?

And then he knew.

Because Joe meant something to him. Because Joe was important to him. Because Ratso would die for him. Joe knew he was right. Ratso would do that. And Joe on the other hand wouldn’t stop at anything to protect him.  

 _They would say we’re fags_ , ran in Joe’s mind.

But they wouldn’t understand. It wasn’t like that at all. They wouldn’t understand. How could they, anyway. And it felt good. It felt so damn good, Joe thought, why would it feel so good if it was wrong?!

And in the darkness it was just so easy, so natural, with nothing but the sound of Ratso’s heartbeat and breath and his black profile against the dim window and Joe wasn’t thinking of why he was doing what he had just been doing, his body was acting on its own, not getting enough. And somewhere deep in his mind he knew he was just doing what he’d wanted to for quite some time.

It could last several minutes but also several hours before Ratso leaned his head against Joe’s chest, breathing heavily.

“You alright?” Joe asked. He felt Ratso nodding. With one hand he took their shoes off and slid under the blankets next to him, leaning his back against the wall with Ratso propped against his chest. He wrapped all the blankets around them, noticing with satisfaction Ratso’s shivering was decreasing. And Joe liked taking care of him. It was like a new duty of his. And an important duty indeed for Ratso needed him. He needed him to be there for him.

Joe wrapped an arm around Ratso, pulling him closer. 

"I ain't going nowhere," Ratso mumbled. Joe almost wanted him to swear it.  

“Joe?”

“Yeah?”

“I think I’m gonna pass out soon.”

“Fine,” Joe said. “You do that. I promise nobody ain’t peeing on you tonight. Only me, perhaps.”

Ratso laughed quietly.

“You know…” he said then. “You could do better than this. You’re not the smartest but you don’t look so bad.”

Now it was Joe giggling.

“Somehow can’t see any ladies going wild for me right now, ya know.”

And they both burst out laughing. For the first time he’d come to New York Joe felt really good. He wanted that night to last forever and he didn’t want to ever wake up. He had no idea how he would act the other day – if he would pretend none of this had ever happened or would be angry with himself – but right at that moment he simply didn’t care. He felt like all the worries, all the hopelessness and the fear just melted. For this short, blissful time, he felt completely relieved and happy.

“Night, Joe…” Ratso said half-asleep already, yet holding onto him like too being afraid Joe would leave.

_I ain't going nowhere..._

Joe looked over him and watched his prematurely aged face, coming to a realization that under all the sweat and bitterness and pain there was a nice face underneath, a handsome face and for a glimpse of a second he could almost see what Ratso would look like without all this shit around. Joe brushed the hair off his eyes. He rarely saw him so calm. He watched him for a couple of more minutes before allowing himself to close his eyes as well. All was well right now. All was fine and he was just where he was supposed to be. And at that moment Joe knew he would have no nightmares that night. None at all.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> OK, that's it. As Midnight Cowboy is such a small fandom I'd really appreciate any feedback or comments. Would you like to read more? I was kind of thinking about making this a two or three part piece, but let me know if you like first :)) Thanks for reading and please, review!


End file.
